a few recent observations and happenings regarding our blonde-headed child.

the first comes from a college student who watched anthony. no bella. no alex. just anthony. the student was an experienced babysitter. the student enjoyed, even loved small kids. when his tour was up he looked haggard, he looked older. the first thing he said to the relief was, "boy ... he sure is ... active."

then there was the mother of three. she watched anthony for an hour while marty ran an errand. when marty returned the woman said, "anthony sure is ... busy". this is parental speak for your kid sure is a pain in the ass. when marty asked more about it, the woman said that upon entering their home, which he'd been in before, anthony walked straight to their toy room and began dismantling it by emptying every box, bin and basket. when the mother asked him what he was doing he explained in a business like affect that toy rooms were supposed to be messy and this one was not. the woman, knowing and kind, let it go. she next found anthony trying to look into her mail slot. being too high on the wall for him to look into she thought it a non-event. she then watched him stand on a basket, get a hand on the wood trim of the opening and then fall into the wall, pulling himself even with opening so he could peer and even reach in. with wide eyes she watched this three year old boy hold himself in place like tom cruise in mission impossible while he satisfied his curiosity about this hole in the wall.

my folks came to dinner two nights ago. when my mother asked anthony how he was doing he said, "sometimes i have bad days." she acknowledged that bad days do sometimes happen, even to the best of us. he then added that on his bad days he had to fight. his grandmother smiled and patted him on his head and moved onto a different child.

and then just yesterday i was walking to work and ran into a neighbor. after exchanging the usual pleasantries she told me that she was recently talking with a mutual friend and asked this woman for advice on how to convince her husband that it was time to get a new couch. her husband was resistant because he thought the couch they had was still fine enough. the mutual friend suggested she send anthony and a jar of vaseline into the room with the couch for thirty minutes. i nodded in understanding but felt obligated to tell her that five minutes would probably do the trick of marring the couch to unsalvageable levels. if she really left him in there for a full thirty minutes, she'd most likely be replacing all the furniture in the room and possibly making some infrastructural repairs to the home as well.

and that is a sampling of a week in the life of anthony. no one is ever going to say he dialed it in or left anything on the table. this boy is livin' his life.